


eucatastrophe

by ephemeralblossom



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Peril, Rescue, Sibling Incest, ToT: Extra Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8397274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralblossom/pseuds/ephemeralblossom
Summary: After narrowly escaping death, Elladan finds that Elrohir has a confession to make.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



Elves are immortal, but this does not mean they cannot die.

Here at the end, Elladan finds that he can face his death with a clear mind and an unshaken heart; though he may regret that his story is cut off so early, he has lived a full life, and he has nothing with which to reproach himself. 

He only wishes he had been able to say goodbye to his family.

Surrounded by orcs, death will come quickly. Already blood streams from a cut on his brow, a slash on his arm. Elladan intends to sell his life dear; they will not take him alive, and many an orc will fall with him. He bares his teeth, fierce and primal, and the orcs flinch back momentarily, before coming on again. His sword sings in the air.

Just as it seems that he will be overwhelmed, Elladan hears, as if from a great distance, the familiar call of a Dúnedain horn. His head comes up, the sound giving him new strength, even as the orcs falter and fall back. They know as well as he what that sound presages, and already some in the rear are chittering and retreating, deserting their fellows in search of safety. 

“To me!” Elladan shouts, brandishing his sword and grinning at the orcs, as the blood drips down his face. “Wait until my brother arrives, foul creatures. He comes with the Dúnedain, and not one of you will see the sunrise.”

His fate hangs in the balance for a moment – the horn call was close, but he is not sure if he has the strength left to hold out until they reach him. Already his head grows weak.

Then the orcs break, swarming down into the tunnels, buffeting him with the force of their flight.

When Elrohir reaches him, Elladan is standing in the cave’s mouth, leaning on his sword. “A little late, brother,” he says, smiling, and faints dead away.

***

When he wakes, he is in Rivendell. His father has cleaned and dressed his wounds, and Elladan is treated to a stern lecture on the inadvisability of becoming separated from one’s party, and an admonishment against repeating such recklessness in the future.

Elladan, who knows the haunted guilt that lurks behind his father’s eyes, takes his lecture meekly and nods in all the right places.

Afterwards, Elrohir comes to him. 

“Did you and Arathorn cleanse that foul hole?” Elladan asks, as his brother sits by his side.

“The orcs will keep,” Elrohir says. He looks distracted, and as he speaks he checks Elladan’s bandages with a careful eye.

“Think you that our father cannot mend me?” Elladan asks, smiling up at him.

Elrohir glares at him, but leaves off his inspection. “When you mend, we will ride forth once more with the Dúnedain. And I shall make certain that you do not strike out on your own.”

“I am not a child,” Elladan says. They have lived for more than two millennia; Elrohir, though minutes the elder, should not treat him so. “Neither am I overly reckless.”

“These would speak otherwise,” Elrohir says, tracing the bandages across Elladan’s unclothed chest. 

“A scratch.”

“Still,” Elrohir says, something unfathomable in his eyes, “I would not have you risk yourself. My life would be less without you.”

The room seems somehow smaller, as Elladan meets Elrohir’s intent gaze. They are merry Elven princes; they leave it to their father to be grim and stately. For Elrohir to speak so is a break from their usual custom, and it sends an unaccountable shiver down Elladan’s spine.

“You must truly have feared for me,” he jests, jabbing his finger playfully into Elrohir’s shoulder.

Elrohir does not react in indignation, as is his usual custom; he does not jab Elladan back, or leap back in outraged dignity. He stares down at Elladan, and Elladan can see the leap of his throat as he swallows.

“You bled so heavily,” Elrohir says, at last, and his voice is hoarse. “You fell into my arms like as a fatal swoon, and I feared to never hear your voice again.”

Elladan finds himself reaching out, placing his hand atop his brother’s, in instinctive comfort. “I am hale, Elrohir,” he says, then laughs ruefully. “Or shall be anon. If somewhat the worse for our father’s tongue-lashings.”

“As I rode with you,” Elrohir says, unhearing, “I could not breathe, for all that we have left unsaid.”

That startles Elladan; he wonders for a moment if Elrohir can mean – but surely he cannot. Elladan’s secret is not shared by his brother. It cannot be.

“I have not spoken for so many years,” Elrohir says, “because I had not the bravery to risk losing you. But today I found that I could lose you even so; and I can no longer hold my tongue.”

Can it be?

Elladan leaves his hand where it is on top of Elrohir’s. He looks up into Elrohir’s face. “Whatever you wish to say to me, I will hear it.”

They have spent the entirety of their lives together; there is more than two millennia of shared history between them. Friends, allies, brothers; and if in the depths of Elladan’s heart he has gone beyond what is right, has lusted after his brother in secret, he has never whispered a word to disrupt their fraternity. It has been his secret, for centuries.

Elrohir swallows again. “You may wish never to see me after this,” he says, “but at least you will know. I cannot let it eat at me another day, when life – even for us! – is fragile.”

Elladan presses his hand, scarce daring to breathe.

“You are part of me, and have been since our mother’s womb,” Elrohir says. “You are my comfort in times of sorrow, my shieldmate in times of strife, and my friend above all. I have long looked in vain for a lover I would value as much as you; and at last I have found that my heart has already chosen, though it chooses passing strange.”

Elladan’s own heart is beating a hollow rhythm in his chest. He holds Elrohir’s eyes.

“It may go against all custom of either of our races,” Elrohir says, his voice less hesitant now – perhaps he sees something in Elladan’s face, “but I find that my heart is bound to you, little brother. I want no other lover but you, though I be condemned by man and elf alike. Only to you do I look, now and forever.”

It is his own secret, thus baldly spoken aloud, and for a moment it takes Elladan’s breath away.

Then he opens parched lips to rasp, “Elrohir,” and pulls his brother down to him. 

“Does this mean that you share my feelings?” Elrohir says, kneeling beside the bed.

“It means,” Elladan says, touching his brother’s face, watching the way his brother’s eyes drift shut, “that you should kiss me.”

Elrohir is not unforthcoming; and as their lips meet for the first time, Elladan cannot feel his wounds, only surpassing joy.

“For the first time in my life,” he says, when Elrohir draws back to let him breathe, “I shall have to be grateful to an orc.”

“Stop thy mouth,” Elrohir says, and kisses him again.

***


End file.
